


CDXVIII.

by SevlinRipley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 20:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4235283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevlinRipley/pseuds/SevlinRipley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England is very good at being cold, so good it gets under your flesh, into your bones, and keeps you up at night, buried in a grey hue that makes you feel like a ghost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	CDXVIII.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [metaphasia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/metaphasia/gifts).



"Harry...?" As knuckles knock gently into his arm, Harry closes his eyes more tightly before opening them. He rolls over to look at Hermione where she lies beside him. It's just her silhouette, there, in the darkness of their shared room, atop their shared bed.

Without clearing his throat first, Harry's voice comes out a rasp, "Something the matter?" It's best to keep his sentences short and to the point when he's half-asleep.

"Yes. I mean, no. Not - not technically," Hermione says, voice still faint. He wonders if she just woke up, in the middle of the night, if she's having trouble finding her voice, as well. Or if she's just quiet because the darkness brings that out in people. Makes them feel as if they speak loudly, they'll break through the cocoon the darkness provides and expose them to churning black holes, or angry flames. "I just. I'm not happy here, I've realized."

"In bed? Move to the couch."

" _Harry_."

No, she's definitely been awake for longer than a few minutes. It was no nightmare that woke her up. It was life unwinding behind closed lids as she yearned to fall away to sleep, which awoke her. Nights could be so cruel that way, when you least expected.

"I'm sorry, but... is there something I'm meant to do right this minute?"

A long, drawn-out sigh is her initial reply. Then he feels Hermione's hair tickle at the tip of his nose, as Hermione turns into face him, as he is her. They are nearly nose to nose, now, and he can feel the tendrils of her anxieties reaching out, pricking his cheeks. He feels around the bed for the hand she had used to knock him back to reality, and holds it limply within his own.

"I'm so cold, Harry. I'm cold, and I'm tired. I feel... I feel as if I'm meant to be hibernating, yet I'm perpetually awake, in this cold, cold world. Just watching things pass by from within my cave in some insomniac state of paralysis."

Harry's eyes widen at that, and he clears his throat. "Wow."

Beside him, Hermione's gives a soft snort of laughter. "I suppose that was a little dramatic. But, do you know what I mean?"

"How could I not? That was disturbingly detailed, Hermione."

"Anyway," Hermoine breathes out, "I can't just stay here, anymore, letting the cold wash over me, freezing me solid. I need to feel warm again, Harry."

It takes Harry a few minutes, and frankly he nearly falls asleep half a dozen times before finally coming to this conclusion, "We'll leave. Tomorrow morning. We'll pack up, and we'll go somewhere warm."

"Will we?" Hermione asks, tries to sound serious, but there's a child-like warmth and giddiness hidden at the bottom of her words.

Harry smiles widely at that, and pulls her into him, closer, and nods his head, chin touching down on the top of her soft, warm head of hair. "Promise. But, we need to get our rest, so let's just... go to sleep. Can you manage?"

"Probably not, but I'll try."

"Pretend Father Christmas is on his way," Harry says, cheeky, getting a swat from Hermione to his upper arm, as he chuckles.

"As if," Hermione says, but she snuggles down into his chest, and Harry thinks she may have fallen asleep even before he did.

 

In the night, Hermione so often pulls back into her own space, as Harry does himself, so that when he wakes before her, he is able to move off the bed with out disturbing her rest. Their shared home contains many remnants of both Magical and Muggle worlds, two of which is a laptop that frequently overheats with little use, and an electric tea kettle. Harry starts the water to boil on the kitchen counter, as he slides onto the bar stool and opens the computer, bringing up a travel site's webpage.

He begins the interaction with the online agent, with a button that says, somehow cheerily in pixel letters over a stone-gray background 'Talk to someone now!' Or perhaps it isn't cheery at all, but a command. Buttons, taking initiative these days. However, the agent seems perfectly nice, and eager to help Harry find the most consistently locations on earth, with the highest ratings of life quality, after Harry says he is looking for some place more permanent. A one-way ticket for two. The agent does mention that, typically, they cater to tourists, but that he'd be glad to see what he could do, so long as Harry didn't need a real estate agent out of him. Once assured that Harry would be fully capable of finding a place, if [agent named] Kris, could supply a decent motel to stay in for a longer period of time.

With a list sent over the tiny chat box, Harry was able to do some of his own research, ruling out places that might seem too - accessible. Hermione might occasionally want guests, but neither of them were particularly fond of sporadic drop-ins, and something more out of the way meant only people who took the time to plan, would be able to come their way. Although, perhaps he was just fooling himself with all of that nonsense. After all, the majority of their community was able to apparate, even fair distances, and what, in this day and age, was truly difficult to reach anyway, that wasn't located somewhere highly dangerous?

He had heard of the beauty of New Zealand, however, and after reading more about it, and asking Kris for his own opinions, it seemed at least like a good place to start. If they hated it, they could always pick up and move somewhere else...

 

"Morning, Harry," Hermione says, mouth stretching on a yawn and distorting her words.

Harry smiles, amused, and then adds more water to the kettle for Hermione's own three cups of tea. She'll need it for packing and leaving. He's got them scheduled for a late flight. One Kris even got a discount on due to the late notice, empty seats having a good rate. Harry will just need to stop by the bank to exchange some of his wizard money into the New Zealand dollar for little things, when they land. Everything else is already being processed in a nice little bundle on his credit card.

"Sleep well?" Harry asks, as Hermione presses her sweater-covered shoulder to his own, somewhat slumped at her bar stool. He has the laptop facing away from her so that he can have something of a big reveal. He knows that, on occasion, Hermione isn't happy with surprises, but again, this can all be temporary if they like, and so he's not too fussed if she hates the idea. He is gunning for her being rather pleased, however, and his heart starts racing a little more when she places her fingers on the screen to inch it her way. He holds steady, however, as she furrows her brow and looks at him with a hint of 'you're being mad, Harry' in her eyes. "Excuse me, I think I asked if you slept well."

Sighing, she smiles, and pulls her hands back into her lap, as he pours her a cup of water and moves the tin of tea into her reach. "Sorry," she says, edging on sarcastic. "Very well, after I finally got there, _thank you_. How did you sleep?"

"Very well, myself," Harry says, play-acting like she is, with his tone kind of sing-songy. "Guess what I did while you were catching up on yours, though."

Again, her eyes narrow, and her mouth quirks upward, suspicious. "I haven't the foggiest. What have you done to get into trouble while I was asleep?"

"Now that's not fair," Harry starts, eyes widening. "Why does everything I do have to get me into trouble?"

"I don't know. _Why does it_?"

"Oh, you're really funny, Hermione. Why don't you quit your day job and become a stand-up comic? I'm sure they'd _love_ to have you for Red Nose."

"I think you're absolutely right. I think I _will_ quit my day job, thank you. Now. What have you done to get yourself into trouble?"

Harry bites back his smile, and maybe even a bubble of laughter as he turns the screen her way. "I've - well, not me actually, Kris - booked us on a flight to New Zealand, and we've got a hotel already set up. We can test the waters for as long as we like and if you ha-" Hermione tugs the laptop closer, looking over every detail while Harry swallows thickly, down the words he still had to say. Clearly she wasn't planning on reacting without knowing everything.

"You've got us a hotel in Raglan?" Hermione's voice is steady, so Harry still can't tell if she's pleased or not.

"Yes. I thought... Whale Bay is only a five minute drive. Also, there's another beach that's quite difficult to get to for muggles, but I think if we go there once ourselves, we'll be able to apparate alright. It's called New Chums Beach, in Coromandel Peninsula on the north island. If we feel Whale Bay is too centered on surfing, that is." Harry feels as though Hermione stopped listening after the first word he said, her eyes trained back on the screen and finger clicking the scroll bar at the side every few seconds. "Hermione, seriously, you are killing me here. Are you pleased or not?"

Hermione shook her head slowly, but turned a small smile toward Harry. "I don't know whether or not to make you feel badly for planning all of this without me, or whether to hug you for being so sweet..."

"A hug would be nicer, I think," Harry says, smiling back as he lifts a hand to squeeze gently at her closest upper arm. "It's warm there, I promise."

"I know. Thank you, Harry. We don't have long to pack, do we?" Hermione asks, edging, finally, on being eager. 

Harry lifts his wrist, to peer at his watch. "We've got a couple of hours. I trust you know exactly where out passports are?"

Hermione laughs, sliding off of the bar stool, and taking her tea cup with her. "Even if I didn't, you certainly wouldn't. If I get them out of the cupboard now, how long will it take you to misplace it?"

Tilting his head to the side, Harry gives it a thing before saying, "Probably a minute or so. Best we leave that till the end."

"Agreed," Hermione says, her childishly wide grin on her face, as she takes her free hand and uses it to pull at Harry's. "I know you like to procrastinate, so come on. I'm watching you pack your bag..."

"What would I do without you?" Harry makes his tone as sarcastic as possible, but the glance back she gives him means he she knows he truly means it. 'Thank you,' he mouths at her, and she mouths back, 'Always.'


End file.
